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Description
All day and all night I wait. Waiting to be found. No one knows I’m here. Alone, in the dark. It’s cold. I shiver. My chains clink. I sigh. I’m waiting for the door to open. I haven’t seen light for years. I can see through the pitch black perfectly, as if it were outside in the day. My eyesight has adjusted that well.

I flick my mind to my newly developed body clock, and find that Feeding is soon. Feeding is unpleasant to most, but it is my salvation. Over the years I forgot to pity or to sympathize my meals. Most of the time its animals, alive and freshly caught; boars, cats, dogs, birds. I’ll eat it. Sometimes it’s a human; someone thrown down into my cell for treachery or the like. I do not care anymore. As long as I feed and stay alive.

I have forgotten all of my human feelings and instincts, rejecting them as weak, and will be my downfall in this miniature hell. I savour the smell and taste of warm, fresh blood, tender, wet flesh, and the feel of slick bones in my hungry mouth. I chisel my teeth sharp on the bones. I keep shards of it to cut throats of thrashing animals sometimes, when I’m too weak with hunger to bring the creature down myself.

I get beaten, of course. A man, dressed from head to toe in white. He comes in with a white gun and a white whip. The light of the clothing can temporarily blind me, something he can instantly take advantage of. I have lost care for my beatings; it isn’t pleasant, but it satisfies who have me captive, so I let it slide.

Each crack of the whip, and each time I let out a small sound of displeasure. I can feel the slice, the overwhelming burning creeping along my arms, shoulders and back. I’m on fire, bleeding hot blood, gashes throbbing, my heart screaming in agony, my lips tight. I used to scream. My heart, my soul and my head screamed in the pain and the fear, when I would pass out, only to wake to him still there, waiting to continue the beatings. I can remember lying in a damp puddle of tears, blood and sweat, remember looking up at the White Man. His face was masked, of course. Then he’d force feed me a potion to turn the agony to excruciating pain, wanting to hear me scream and shriek, howl and roar. My wounds wept, my heart leaked, my head cracked, my muscles taut, my eyes sore.

I’m waiting eagerly for the Feeding. I start to hear voices. I can almost smell the flesh of the animal or human. I wait patiently; it will come.

The door opens. I pounce, pulling and throwing my weight around, trying to break the chains in my earnest to get my meal. There is a silhouette. A man dressed in black. Black? Where is White Man?

Black Man lifts a rifle. I stop moving. I cleverly position myself lower to the ground, hiding my stomach but offering my forehead. It he were to shoot me, I would die instantly this way.

BANG.

The bullet hits my neck, where it connects to my torso. It is a dart, not a bullet. I frown. Maybe this is an accomplice of the White Man. Maybe this is the potion for the pain. I brace myself, ready to writhe away the agony in desperation. But I do not feel pain yet. Or at all. Maybe it is a dud, I think dully, looking at the dart protruding from my neck.

I begin to feel a faint trickle in my torso, trickling in threads of the liquid being soaked up into my veins, my heart searching for nutrients. My veins throb slightly from the realisation, understanding this feral liquid’s intent. I feel with fascination as my veins choke on the liquid, gasping and cramping to stop its entrance into my heart. I feel my muscles jerk and cramp spasmodically as the liquid makes it way down to my stomach, another thread of it slithering up into my heart.

My stomach cramps and jerks, twitching strongly as the liquid enters. I place my hand against my tummy and feel the muscles writhing. Fascinating.

My ribcage begins to ache, like something is constricting it with a rock-hard grip. It feels like a stone vice has been clamped over my torso, crushing my ribcage. I feel my body shudder violently. The crushing sensation increases. My heart is choking as well now, gasping and throbbing, fighting exhaustion.

I marvel how a single dart-full of liquid has caused all of this fascinating agony and reactions from my body.

My whole body is screaming from pain now, yet my lips remain sealed. Then I feel it.

I feel movement underneath my skin, inside my ribs. It rumbled, low and tired, like a great beast waking from an ancient deep sleep, and had been reluctantly woken. I feel my chest growl; not my stomach, my chest. It feels like thunder beneath my ribs. Like a monster from the deep, it shuffles itself for a moment.

I feel something beneath my ribs roar, howl and holler. Something pushes hard against my ribs. Then it withdraws. I wait. It was like the calm before the storm.

Suddenly some force inside me smashed toward the surface of my chest. I feel a rib crack. Another. A number of cracks shatter the silence around me. I feel my throat clog up, lungs wet. I choke and retch a mouthful of blood and stomach acid. The searing burn on my throat from the acid goes unnoticed because of the agony on my ribs. I feel my neck click from the sudden movement as I look down, muscles cramped.

Talons, bone-like and skeletal, burst from between each side of the ribcage, between the gap in the middle. They are coated in a clinging layer a black, gooey substance; I choke another dollop of blood and acid, which lands harmlessly on the talons, and slides off.

I look up at the Black Man, face writhing in one of agony. I cannot believe he is worst than the White Man. Then again, I expected no aid anyhow.

But something in the Black Man’s eyes told me different. Pushing the agony and terror to the back of my mind, I focused on his gaze. My mind struggled to ignore the horror inflicted on me, but I forced it.

The Black Man’s eyes told me I was being helped. That my fate was to end in agony, not in anything more or less, and he was only helping it along the way. If I died now, the thing inside me would remain, and kill my captors. It was the demon that had been trapped within my soul. As my torturous life began, it grew, fed by the horror and the fear and the pain. Soon it burst from my soul and started as a demon the size of a grain of sand, dwelling in my chest. It grew as the torture increased, feeding it into the fully-fledged demon bursting free now. Fed from my torture, watered with blood shed, bursting from spirit to a monster in the flesh ……from flesh. My flesh.

I understood. The Black Man nodded as soon as he saw me lose the terror, understanding lighting my eyes. I watched him let his hand fall to his side, gripping the rifle. His other hands went to his holster, and pulled out a handgun. Sliding it towards his temple, he stared dully at me.

BANG.

A spray of thick blood and brain debris splattered onto the doorframe. The rifle fell lifelessly from his grip. The handgun landed with a clatter on the floor. His dead body hit the floor with a wet thud, both holes in his head weeping, wet skull shards littering the floor.

I watched dully, then smiled. I accepted my fate. It may have not have been as nice as the Black Man’s end, but the vengeful beast within me will leave a mark on this planet, signalling what is the consequence of torture such as mine. I took comfort in the thought of millions of Black Men, the salvation of millions, finishing what the foolish, human scientists started. A demon, soaked to the brim in fire, blood, terror and fury, let loose in a world where none is safe and all is dangerous.

I feel the demon. The talons wrench my ribs apart, leaving the cage open and weeping, organs visible and screaming. The agony makes my mind explode. As I explode into death, I can see the remains of the demon.

It is a hellish beast, made of shadow and metal and bone and blood. Floating organs reside in its chest. Muscles and tendons are surrounded by scraggly pieces of weeping flesh. It has eyes dotted all over its hellish body, red and black and white. Thorns and shards of bone jaggedly line it’s spine, arms and tail. The black goo coats its maw of death. It opens its jaw, pieces of shattered bone, shadow and metal protrudes from the jawbone. It’s a demon alright.

There is a second of bone-splitting agony, sharp as a thousand red-hot needles puncturing my skin, then nothing. Everything went out of sight, pain came to abrupt stop, and all senses shut down. I do not see, hear or think, nor feel or taste.. I am Dead. Finally.

Description
All day and all night I wait. Waiting to be found. No one knows I’m here. Alone, in the dark. It’s cold. I shiver. My chains clink. I sigh. I’m waiting for the door to open. I haven’t seen light for years. I can see through the pitch black perfectly, as if it were outside in the day. My eyesight has adjusted that well.

I flick my mind to my newly developed body clock, and find that Feeding is soon. Feeding is unpleasant to most, but it is my salvation. Over the years I forgot to pity or to sympathize my meals. Most of the time its animals, alive and freshly caught; boars, cats, dogs, birds. I’ll eat it. Sometimes it’s a human; someone thrown down into my cell for treachery or the like. I do not care anymore. As long as I feed and stay alive.

I have forgotten all of my human feelings and instincts, rejecting them as weak, and will be my downfall in this miniature hell. I savour the smell and taste of warm, fresh blood, tender, wet flesh, and the feel of slick bones in my hungry mouth. I chisel my teeth sharp on the bones. I keep shards of it to cut throats of thrashing animals sometimes, when I’m too weak with hunger to bring the creature down myself.

I get beaten, of course. A man, dressed from head to toe in white. He comes in with a white gun and a white whip. The light of the clothing can temporarily blind me, something he can instantly take advantage of. I have lost care for my beatings; it isn’t pleasant, but it satisfies who have me captive, so I let it slide.

Each crack of the whip, and each time I let out a small sound of displeasure. I can feel the slice, the overwhelming burning creeping along my arms, shoulders and back. I’m on fire, bleeding hot blood, gashes throbbing, my heart screaming in agony, my lips tight. I used to scream. My heart, my soul and my head screamed in the pain and the fear, when I would pass out, only to wake to him still there, waiting to continue the beatings. I can remember lying in a damp puddle of tears, blood and sweat, remember looking up at the White Man. His face was masked, of course. Then he’d force feed me a potion to turn the agony to excruciating pain, wanting to hear me scream and shriek, howl and roar. My wounds wept, my heart leaked, my head cracked, my muscles taut, my eyes sore.

I’m waiting eagerly for the Feeding. I start to hear voices. I can almost smell the flesh of the animal or human. I wait patiently; it will come.

The door opens. I pounce, pulling and throwing my weight around, trying to break the chains in my earnest to get my meal. There is a silhouette. A man dressed in black. Black? Where is White Man?

Black Man lifts a rifle. I stop moving. I cleverly position myself lower to the ground, hiding my stomach but offering my forehead. It he were to shoot me, I would die instantly this way.

BANG.

The bullet hits my neck, where it connects to my torso. It is a dart, not a bullet. I frown. Maybe this is an accomplice of the White Man. Maybe this is the potion for the pain. I brace myself, ready to writhe away the agony in desperation. But I do not feel pain yet. Or at all. Maybe it is a dud, I think dully, looking at the dart protruding from my neck.

I begin to feel a faint trickle in my torso, trickling in threads of the liquid being soaked up into my veins, my heart searching for nutrients. My veins throb slightly from the realisation, understanding this feral liquid’s intent. I feel with fascination as my veins choke on the liquid, gasping and cramping to stop its entrance into my heart. I feel my muscles jerk and cramp spasmodically as the liquid makes it way down to my stomach, another thread of it slithering up into my heart.

My stomach cramps and jerks, twitching strongly as the liquid enters. I place my hand against my tummy and feel the muscles writhing. Fascinating.

My ribcage begins to ache, like something is constricting it with a rock-hard grip. It feels like a stone vice has been clamped over my torso, crushing my ribcage. I feel my body shudder violently. The crushing sensation increases. My heart is choking as well now, gasping and throbbing, fighting exhaustion.

I marvel how a single dart-full of liquid has caused all of this fascinating agony and reactions from my body.

My whole body is screaming from pain now, yet my lips remain sealed. Then I feel it.

I feel movement underneath my skin, inside my ribs. It rumbled, low and tired, like a great beast waking from an ancient deep sleep, and had been reluctantly woken. I feel my chest growl; not my stomach, my chest. It feels like thunder beneath my ribs. Like a monster from the deep, it shuffles itself for a moment.

I feel something beneath my ribs roar, howl and holler. Something pushes hard against my ribs. Then it withdraws. I wait. It was like the calm before the storm.

Suddenly some force inside me smashed toward the surface of my chest. I feel a rib crack. Another. A number of cracks shatter the silence around me. I feel my throat clog up, lungs wet. I choke and retch a mouthful of blood and stomach acid. The searing burn on my throat from the acid goes unnoticed because of the agony on my ribs. I feel my neck click from the sudden movement as I look down, muscles cramped.

Talons, bone-like and skeletal, burst from between each side of the ribcage, between the gap in the middle. They are coated in a clinging layer a black, gooey substance; I choke another dollop of blood and acid, which lands harmlessly on the talons, and slides off.

I look up at the Black Man, face writhing in one of agony. I cannot believe he is worst than the White Man. Then again, I expected no aid anyhow.

But something in the Black Man’s eyes told me different. Pushing the agony and terror to the back of my mind, I focused on his gaze. My mind struggled to ignore the horror inflicted on me, but I forced it.

The Black Man’s eyes told me I was being helped. That my fate was to end in agony, not in anything more or less, and he was only helping it along the way. If I died now, the thing inside me would remain, and kill my captors. It was the demon that had been trapped within my soul. As my torturous life began, it grew, fed by the horror and the fear and the pain. Soon it burst from my soul and started as a demon the size of a grain of sand, dwelling in my chest. It grew as the torture increased, feeding it into the fully-fledged demon bursting free now. Fed from my torture, watered with blood shed, bursting from spirit to a monster in the flesh ……from flesh. My flesh.

I understood. The Black Man nodded as soon as he saw me lose the terror, understanding lighting my eyes. I watched him let his hand fall to his side, gripping the rifle. His other hands went to his holster, and pulled out a handgun. Sliding it towards his temple, he stared dully at me.

BANG.

A spray of thick blood and brain debris splattered onto the doorframe. The rifle fell lifelessly from his grip. The handgun landed with a clatter on the floor. His dead body hit the floor with a wet thud, both holes in his head weeping, wet skull shards littering the floor.

I watched dully, then smiled. I accepted my fate. It may have not have been as nice as the Black Man’s end, but the vengeful beast within me will leave a mark on this planet, signalling what is the consequence of torture such as mine. I took comfort in the thought of millions of Black Men, the salvation of millions, finishing what the foolish, human scientists started. A demon, soaked to the brim in fire, blood, terror and fury, let loose in a world where none is safe and all is dangerous.

I feel the demon. The talons wrench my ribs apart, leaving the cage open and weeping, organs visible and screaming. The agony makes my mind explode. As I explode into death, I can see the remains of the demon.

It is a hellish beast, made of shadow and metal and bone and blood. Floating organs reside in its chest. Muscles and tendons are surrounded by scraggly pieces of weeping flesh. It has eyes dotted all over its hellish body, red and black and white. Thorns and shards of bone jaggedly line it’s spine, arms and tail. The black goo coats its maw of death. It opens its jaw, pieces of shattered bone, shadow and metal protrudes from the jawbone. It’s a demon alright.

There is a second of bone-splitting agony, sharp as a thousand red-hot needles puncturing my skin, then nothing. Everything went out of sight, pain came to abrupt stop, and all senses shut down. I do not see, hear or think, nor feel or taste.. I am Dead. Finally.